7teen: After Careful Consideration
by Jupiter Queen
Summary: Ep. 15: Wyatt never knew adversity until his parents stood in the way of his future. Jude doesn't know what his future will hold, so he confides in the one person who won't judge him: Jonesy. Sydni realizes her future career might not pay the bills, so she needs to find something that will.
1. Wyatt, Part I

_**Warning**__: Profanity._

_**A/N**__: Okay, I'm enjoying the writing process for this so far. I'm taking a different approach with this story by focusing on one character per chapter instead of multiple in the same one. I just want to be able to crank out the story much faster, so that's my reasoning behind this. Plus, it's fun to switch things up and try something new._

_I enjoyed creating details about Wyatt's upbringing and home life from scratch. As a black woman, telling black stories, whether fictional or otherwise, is super important to me. While I'm slightly annoyed by the fact that Wyatt's character wasn't explored as much as it should have been in canon, this __does_ _allow me to take artistic liberties and essentially do what I want with him as a character (as long as it makes sense with his personality, of course). He's just caffeinated sweetheart who's trying his best. (Although, we're gonna ignore that the writers had him make a shrine to Serena. I love selectively ignoring canon.)_

_Hennyways, excuse this long-ass author's note, but I hope this story inspires more people to possibly write about Wyatt. I know he plays the role of a genuinely nice guy in the show and that can be perceived as boring, but there's so many interesting directions you can take that characterization. I know this is just fanfiction,—in a dead fandom of all places—but characters of color and their life experiences matter, y'all._

_Now that I've stated my piece, let's get on with the story._

* * *

Wyatt, Part I

_**Wyatt**_ prayed to God that his dreams would be realized. He didn't care when, though. He could withstand a wait since youth stood by his side. Unlike Jonesy, he didn't like instant gratification. _Gimme gimme gimme_ and _now_ didn't sate his soul. He didn't want something that would fizzle fast into nothingness. He'd been honing his craft since kindergarten. Earning cash on a flash-in-the-pan single before fading into obscurity didn't suit him. He promised God that his head remained in music for the transmittal of positivity, not the fickleness of fame. Until his success arrived in a way that signaled stability, he would be working, waiting, and praying.

Dressed in his Sunday best, he stood in a pew with his parents to the left of him. To his right stood his three older sisters and paternal grandmother. With his head bowed and eyes closed, Wyatt listened to the pastor's prayer over the church congregation. The pastor asked that each person—whether in pews or bound to wheelchairs—be delivered from their sins, sorrows, and sicknesses into the hands of salvation, satisfaction, and success.

Upon hearing _amen_, he lifted his head, opened his eyes, and took his seat. He anticipated his butt going numb from being seated for a few hours. Early service always held him hostage. He used to be more involved in the church, being in the choir for a couple years as a child, but he stopped to focus on school and other activities. Now he only went one Sunday per month. His whole family did. The seven of them would go and feed their spirits, then go home and feed their bodies after preparing a big meal. His parents suggested such a tradition when his last sister left for college. They wanted the family unit to remain tightly bound and be able to bond.

It made sense why their parents wanted to keep them together. After all, a thirteen-year gap separated Wyatt and his oldest sister Whitney. She was thirty, thriving, and the definition of _black girl magic_. She made _Jen_ look unpolished and careless. She made their parents' dreams come true on the first try, raising a doctor… At least, she would become one when she completed her medical residency and mended other loose ends.

Next came Wynter, older than Wyatt by eight years. She took on twenty-five, the LSATs, and an engagement after years of guys doing her dirty. He looked to her for hope, for signs that things would turn out alright. Romantic love could be an elusive force, and it would never work out _when_ forced. When she gave up on finding it and focused on herself instead, the right one came along. Wyatt hoped his dreams would manifest into reality the same way: by working hard and trusting the process without high expectations, success would hopefully find him.

Last in his line-up of sisters was Willow, older by five years. She was twenty-two, a decorated track athlete, and a recent college graduate with a marketing degree. Of all his sisters, he remained the closest to her. She gave him the most perspective about high school when he still floated through elementary and middle school. Through her first year in college, he saw what flunking a semester and incurring Caribbean wrath looked like. He also learned how to recover from her, too.

Being _baby boy_ and _baby brother_ didn't exempt him from excellence. If anything, he felt the watchful eyes of his family upon him. While unspoken, after Willow earned her degree, he could hear them say, "_Your_ turn."

In all that he did, his parents wanted him to be excellent. Though they didn't expect perfection, he sometimes put more weight on himself than he should. From the Mother's Day song he wrote as a child to the coding he did for fun, he threw his essence into his work. His desire to stay up and finish what he started led to long, caffeinated nights.

Like last night.

He couldn't refrain from yawning during church service. No offense to the pastor. He just didn't know when to leave a song alone. Tweaking lyrics and messing around on his audio software enticed him more than sleep. Skimping on rest always bit him in the end, though. He replenished his energy through coffee and crashed without it. A vicious cycle.

_Note to self: Stop at Starbucks before going home. _

He needed a brew to get himself through the day, especially if he'd be around his grandmother. He loved her, but the woman was a wildcard. She spoke her mind without censorship. If irritable, pre-coffee Wyatt—who lacked the filter and stable mood of _post_-coffee Wyatt—retorted, then she might scale a tree for a switch to hit him with. Mama Cynthia, while seventy-five, remained _agile_.

* * *

_**He**_ emerged from church with an aching forehead and a sore behind. Luckily, stopping for coffee on the way home relieved him of the headache. Sitting in the cushioned backseat of his mom's sedan rid him of his soreness.

Now he could help prepare lunch with his family without worrying about irritability. As soon as they got home, his mom blasted some old-school soca and put them all in the mood to cook.

Together, they stewed oxtails, added black-eyed peas and coconut milk to the rice on the stove, and scurried out the kitchen when Mama Cynthia shooed them away from her special collard greens. No one—not even their father—knew the recipe. However, they _did_ know how divine it tasted. Wyatt likened it to manna from heaven. It tasted even better with age. He could taste the years of hard work that went into it, so he savored everything from the greens to the ham hocks to the pot liquor.

Lunch always started in silence, since their meal interested them more than forming sentences. Utensils clinked and scraped against the porcelain plates. Willow smacked on her food with her mouth agape.

"Willow, chew with some class, not like a cow," their mother scolded in her thick Trinidadian accent.

"Sorry, mama," she said, albeit muffled.

Though being called out by their mother could be quite embarrassing, Wyatt silently thanked God that she reprimanded Willow. He always winced at the way he could hear her every chew.

As everyone slowly conquered the food on their plates, conversation picked up. His parents discussed going to the grocery store while Whitney and Wynter conversed about a girl they used to know.

However, Wyatt could feel the burn of Mama Cynthia's eyes on him.

_Uh oh_, he thought, preparing himself for controversy.

"So, baby boy," she started, her Jamaican accent rife with mischief, "you still dating that white girl?"

_I knew it_.

Everyone abandoned their sidebar chats to tune into this.

"_Ma_," Wyatt's dad chastized. "Leave him alone. You know these kids date who they wanna date these days."

She held her hands in the air. "Hey, I'm just asking an innocent question."

"Innocent with a _hint_ of shade," Wynter snarked under her breath, making her sisters laugh.

"What was that, Wyn?" Mama Cynthia asked with a knowing smirk.

"Nothing, grandma."

"Mmhmm." His grandmother leaned in, focusing her attention on Wyatt once more. "So, you still dating her?"

He cleared his throat and looked away, finding his remaining oxtails more amusing and less judgmental. "Actually, I am," he answered. "We're still going pretty strong."

"Her name's Marlowe, right?" Whitney asked.

"Yeah," he said, pushing around a few black-eyed peas with his fork.

"Aw, Mama Cynthia, you done scared my baby boy," his mom said, noting the way Wyatt still wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

"So you're fond of the girl he dating?" she asked in return.

"Mmm, I wouldn't quite say that, but she's… pleasant."

Wyatt groaned before finding the strength to meet his family's eyes again. His pre-coffee irritability seeped into his words. "Yes, I'm still dating Marlowe, and, yes, I know she's not black. But we have so many things in common, and we really care about each other. Isn't that all that matters? Can't we talk about something less… incriminating?"

"Mkay," Mama Cynthia replied. A beat later, she asked, "So what schools you lookin' into?"

Ah, another dreaded subject. Discussing his girlfriend's race and acknowledging his mother and grandmother's desires for him to date a black girl (as if he didn't already date Serena) didn't sound so bad anymore.

He had wondered how to respond to such a question for a while now. Unfortunately, he'd never figure out the right way to dash his parents' and grandmother's expectations. As much as he wanted one, no such handbook existed. He would have to do it all at once.

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Um… UToronto, Montreal Institute for the Arts, Nova Scotia School of Music, Walter Wiggins Conservatory, and Banting. So, yeah… Those are my top picks."

If he sandwiched music schools between two fine universities, perhaps they wouldn't notice.

After a tense and unbearably silent minute, his father asked, "Music schools, Wyatt? _Music_ schools?"

_So much for that brilliant plan_.

"Wyatt André Williams, have you lost your mind? Have you fallen and bumped your head? Huh?" his mother asked, paralyzing him with fear.

The way she said his full name and proceeded to ramble in her native tongue meant that he might meet God sooner than he planned. Even Jesus couldn't save him now.

"What happened with programming? Has computer science never crossed your mind?" his dad questioned.

"Programming's cool and all, but I just… I just really love music."

"How wonderful. My son loves white girls and music," his mom huffed. "God save us all."

_Don't _I _feel great about my life choices?_ he asked himself, using sarcasm to distract himself from his developing crisis.

"Wyatt, I could've _sworn_ you loved programming. I mean, you do so well with math and logic. How could you _not_ go into that?"

Without aiming to be disrespectful, he replied, "Because it's not my passion, dad."

"Passion don't pay the bills," his mom interjected. "And I'm not burning my money for you to mess around with a guitar."

His sisters gasped. His grandmother appeared aghast.

Wyatt's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. Fiery acid gnawed away at the tissue. He looked at his father, foolishly hoping that he wouldn't second his mother's decision.

They never asked what he wanted to major in. They never asked where he wanted to go. Always assumed. Always told him what schools they wanted him to look into and assumed he would follow through with them.

"Your mom's right," his dad said. "I can pay for you to study programming, but I can't pay for you to study… whatever else you got in mind."

A foolish hope. Literally a foolish hope.

Wyatt didn't know what to say. He wanted to speak, to fight for his dream, but nothing—not even a sigh—fell from his lips.

Willow slammed her fist against the table, demanding everyone's attention. "So you'd rather not have Wyatt go to school at _all_?" she asked, being the first of _anyone_ at the table to break the godawful silence that plagued them.

"You better watch your fist," their mother scolded before their father answered her question.

"We never said that," he replied. "If he chooses to study computer science like we expected, we'll pay his tuition, no questions asked. But if he chooses music like he intends, he's on his own."

Wyatt knew his parents would be disappointed in his pursuit of the creative arts, but he didn't foresee this ultimatum coming. He'd have to fund a future of his own design alone. Seventeen. With years' worth of tuition to pay for.

Salty tears stung his eyelids and clouded his vision. Damn it all, he felt like submitting to his body's desires and weeping like an infant, but he didn't want to do it in their midst. He didn't want to do it at _all_. He didn't want to be trapped in this circumstance.

Why couldn't he fall in line with his parents' plans like his sisters? Why didn't he fit into their design? Why did _baby brother_ have to be the anomaly?

"Isn't him getting a degree in _something_ better than _nothing_?" Wynter asked, just as infuriated as Willow.

"You're right. Which is why he _definitely_ needs his CS degree," their mother retorted.

"We're not going in circles about this anymore," their father stated. He looked at Wyatt and said, "Son, you're either going into STEM, or you're on your own."

Wyatt's world fell out of orbit.

* * *

_**Lunch**_ ended early. After the ultimatum, no one knew how to speak. They all washed dishes without dancing or chatting. However, before they left, his sisters hugged Wyatt in support and told him that they would look out for him no matter what. They informed him that they would still attend his talent showcase next Saturday, whether their parents' did or not. While he appreciated the way they rallied around him, unfortunately, he did not live with them.

His mother left shortly after his sisters, heading to the grocery store, leaving his father and grandmother in the kitchen.

Wyatt seldom eavesdropped. Private conversations should stay exactly that way: _private_. However, he couldn't leave them alone when he knew he was the subject. After all that transpired, he _needed_ further information. He needed another foolish glimmer of hope.

"…I don't want him throwing his life away. He's too bright to waste it like this," he heard his father say.

"You said it yo'self, Louis: These kids are gonna do what they wanna do these days."

"Don't try and twist what I said, mama. I said that about who he dates, not where he ends up."

She pointed a warning finger at him. "Boy, don't talk to me any kind of way. Remember who raised you. And remember that you need to be _understanding_. Listen, I don't get the kind of music he be making, but baby boy shows promise at everything he does. That boy's been on honor roll since pre-K. Wouldn't you rather he be hard-working instead of hardly working at all? Huh? If he half-assed everything, you'd be throwing a _bigger_ fit right now."

"Me and Wanda didn't work our tails off for him to go into _music_. I wouldn't have bought him that doggone laptop if I had known he was gonna make songs on it."

"Now, _Lou_. You know you wrong for that."

After a moment of quiet deliberation, he conceded, "Fine, maybe that was harsh. But, as long as he's under _my_ roof, I need him to commit to something more practical."

"So Lo's business degree is practical? Ain't there a lot of kids in the business industry?"

"Willow's working full-time at a place that _requires_ her degree, so, yes, it _is_ practical."

"What about the 'professional student'?" she asked, referring to Wynter.

"Why are you nitpicking all my kids, ma?"

"I'm _not_. I'm tryna make a point about baby boy. You've raised some brilliant kids, Lou, but they're _all_ not gonna be multimillionaires. Shouldn't you take pride in knowing you got _four_ kids who do right by you and Wanda? Baby boy ain't doing this music thing to piss you off. He's doin' it 'cause it makes him happy." Before he could reply, she said, "Me and your daddy—bless his soul—worked _hard_ to give you and your brothers a better life, so you could turn around and do the same for _your_ babies. And, right now, you're gonna make baby Wyatt's life _harder_."

He crossed his arms. "I gave him the luxury of choice. He can choose better school options, or he can choose different. All I know is I'm not paying for different." His voice softened. "You know I love you, but this is my house, mama."

"Do you love him, too?"

"Of course I love him. That boy means the world to me." After a moment of quiet deliberation, he conceded, "Listen, I don't hate his music, and I'm not saying he can't have a side hustle, but I don't want this... this _hobby_ to derail his life. That's final."

The acid in Wyatt's stomach consumed his heart.


	2. Jude, Part I

Jude, Part I

_**Something**_ trapped Jude in hell.

There weren't any angels. No Starr. No Jen. No Caitlin. No Nikki. No Sydni.

His homeboys weren't there either. No sign of Jonesy or Wyatt.

He remained lonesome in a strange dimension, surrounded by a red tint with embers floating around and defying gravity. He tried to move and scream, but found himself gagged and bound. Duct tape muffled his cries, and rope rubbed his wrists and ankles raw.

Frantically, he scanned the area he occupied with eyes wide. He remained at the dead end of a long hallway. Many doors lined its walls. Even if he found a way out of these ropes and this tape, he couldn't guarantee his way out.

So, either way, he was screwed.

Thunderous footsteps filled his ears.

_Make that triple-screwed_.

Before he knew it, two oddly familiar and overly tall beings stomped in his direction. Their grisly appearance made him almost soil his pants. So did their low and warped voices.

"Jude," the monster with a feminine form hissed, "continue to live your life in smoke and on skateboards, and you shall be doomed to an eternity of suffering."

The monster with a more masculine appearance added, "You cannot keep living as you please. Keep shirking away responsibilities, and you will compound your consequences."

"If you are caught again with smoke rolling from your lips, your soul will be ours."

"And you will never—"

"—_ever_—"

"—know a life outside of damnation."

Before Jude knew it, these frightful figures disappeared, vanishing into thin air and leaving black wisps behind. Though still bound to the chair, he calmed down. Then black tar rushing down the hallway and into his direction sent him panicking again.

With his breathing labored and his eyes shut so tightly that his facial muscles ached, he feared for his mortality.

He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to—

"Ahh!" he shouted as he fell over.

Bedding padded his crash-landing onto the carpet.

Wait… Bedding?

He looked at the carpet. No black tar. No embers. No flames licking the ground.

He didn't die.

He freed himself from his tangled, messy sheets and comforter, only to find his television on, a wireless controller on the carpet, and a half-open game case.

He chuckled. _Oh_, _my bad_.

Another night of playing _Hellish Descent_ went too far.

That explained everything that transpired. The warped versions of his parents. That hallway in his dreams being a nightmarish version of their upstairs hallway. The dialogue that he didn't understand blending with his parents' scolding from over a week ago.

Another obsessive night of horror entertainment turned into a nightmare, that's all.

He groaned.

His parents' scolding and the uncertainty of his future, however, remained reality.

Like, that shit actually happened, and he stayed screwed _for real_.

When did life become so serious? When did it become a bummer? When did the world begin demanding so much from him?

Why did he have to sacrifice the two things he loved the most—smoking and skating—for credit hours, credit scores, and a lifetime of working a dead-end job until he died? He wasn't ready for that. He didn't even know what he _liked_ beyond his two loves.

Math and science didn't agree with him. History confused him with all its dates and names and places. When slang wasn't involved, English eluded him. He couldn't make a career out of his C+ stint in art class, nor his C in gym class.

He couldn't concentrate for shit. Weed couldn't even help him focus anymore. His attention span rivaled that of a goldfish. He felt dim compared to his friends. All of them shined brilliantly.

Would he ever find something suited for him? Did he have a place in this world?

Damn, he hated getting existential.

He needed a break from the weight on his mind.

Remembering that he still sat on the floor, an idea sprung to mind. He sprawled on his bedding and looked under his bed, fumbling for the shoebox in the back.

He managed to retrieve it—reminding himself not to push it so far back the next time—and opened the lid. The contents brought a smile to his lips.

Blue dream. Backwoods. A bong. A grinder. His makeshift filter composed of a toilet roll with scented dryer sheets taped on the ends. Febreeze in case the filter didn't mask the sweet skunky scent.

Good morning to him.

* * *

_**After**_ the smoke eased his mind and the scent of fresh linen masked his morning activities, he ventured to the mall with a question on his mind: He couldn't be the only one without it all figured out, right?

He supposed he'd hang with his angel and find out.

* * *

_**He**_ ventured to the mall, making his way to Vegan Island, hoping to see his "lil starship," as he called her. The galaxy really spun space dust and starlight into a human body, a body that ended up becoming Starr. He couldn't be more thankful.

Once the girl with a ponytail of creamsicle came into view, he smiled. At least she remained a certainty in his life. With one foot on his board and the other on the linoleum tile, he launched himself towards her. A gentle breeze whooshed past him as he neared his girlfriend.

He extended his hands out, stopping himself at Vegan Island's counter instead of flipping over behind it.

Starr giggled. "Hi, Jude."

"Heya, babe."

They stared at each other for ages, lost in the glow of each other's eyes, their favorite pastime. He didn't care if people considered it vapid or stupid. He saw her pupils dilate. He pondered the intensity of the blue in her eyes. He noticed how awake she was. Her eyes told stories.

"Did you smoke this morning?" she asked.

Apparently, his did too. He chuckled. "Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Blue dream."

"My favorite."

"Mine, too."

"So… want me to get you some water? I know that dry mouth's gotta be _intense_ and you probably didn't drink any on the way here."

He simpered. "You know me so well."

She flashed her lopsided grin at him before crouching down and retrieving her backpack. She placed it on the counter beside the cash register, unzipping it and handing him a bottle.

"Thanks, babe." He said as he loosened the cap and chugged like his life depended on it. He let out a small burp after finishing the whole bottle in one go, making them both laugh. "Oops. Must've drank too fast."

"I'm just glad you drank water at all. You've really gotta up your water intake. It's super good for you. Keeps your insides working all properly."

"I know, I know. I'm workin' on it."

"Cool." Her lips pulled into a frown. "I hope it doesn't come across like I'm trying to kill your vibe or anything. It's just that we're, like, 70% water and you're, like, 100% everything to me, so I'm just trying to keep you alive."

He put his hand on the counter, inching it towards her. "I'm just glad my lil starship is always looking out for me."

She placed hers upon his. He reveled in her warmth. "I mean, you always do the same for me."

They never faked feelings. They never hid them, either. He loved that about their relationship. _Sappy_ be damned. He loved to love with open arms.

"So," she started, beckoning his attention while she played with his fingers, "wanna help me get some stuff outta the freezer?"

"Sure," he replied with a knowing, boyish grin.

They went to the backroom and made out like usual, their _other_ favorite pastime.

He could hold her waist and kiss her lips forever. If he could freeze this moment and return to it whenever the world demanded him to grow older, he would. He didn't want to leave this idyllic bubble they created for themselves. He didn't want any pressure to burst it. Air ebbed and flowed between two sets of lungs. This mundane world appealed to him whenever she was around. She livened everything with her cosmic energy.

In her space, he stayed. Even when they parted lips, they sat on the floor, against the wall. He threw his arm around Starr, and she huddled into him. If anything, he should have been retreating into her.

He wanted to ask her about life beyond high school. He just needed to summon the courage.

He and Starr never talked about the future, not in regards to what the two of them would become. They discussed higher-level matters, like how the world would end, what secrets the government kept from them, whether humanity would ever contact aliens, where Atlantis went, when the zombie apocalypse would begin, and why Earth believed itself to be the only planet teeming with life. The supernatural side of life fascinated them. A world without the unexplainable bored them.

Starr often provided him with insights from her stints as a goth and as a nerd. She'd talked for hours about her fascination with subcultures, her love for the naturopathic, and their shared interest in the occult. He knew his friends didn't like to hear her ramble for too long, but he always listened to her. She stimulated his brain. She fascinated him.

On the other hand, reality and its mundanities terrified him. Sometimes—when he didn't dream of static and white noise or have game-induced nightmares—he wandered around a labyrinth of office cubicles. Instead of his favorite apparel, he donned a suit. Rather than having a skateboard that he could use to make his escape, he had a briefcase. Instead of finding a way out, he usually ended up suffocated by his tie. (Okay, so _maybe_ horror and supernatural affected all his dreams after all.)

Either way, he woke up gasping for air every time. Waking up like this made him empathize with Jonesy and his claustrophobia.

But Starr helped him breathe easier. He didn't depend on her to make his life better, but he liked it better with her in it.

Finally, he found strength.

"Hey, Starr?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think you'll be—y'know—in life?"

"I mean, in this life, I'm me, but I'm hoping in the next one I come back as a narwhal or something. That'd be cool."

He chuckled. He loved that instead of thinking of careers, she thought of reincarnation. They shared the same penchant for the unconventional. "That'd be _radical_. But I didn't mean what we are as in our bodies. I meant jobs and stuff."

"Oh." Her cheeks flushed with red, an adorable sight. "I've always wanted to get into environmental science. I just wanna make a difference when it comes to climate change and rapid global warming. If not environmental, then maybe marine biology. Either way, I wanna do something that helps impact nature."

His eyes widened. "Damn, that's gonna take a lot of school."

"Yeah, I know, but it's gonna be so worth it." She gazed at him. "Whatever it takes to be Dr. Starr Shipp, PhD."

Though he wanted to highlight the rhyme in her sentence, he instead said, "Whoa, I'm with a future doctor? That's actually kinda hot."

He heard one of his favorite sounds: her giggle. "_Jude_."

"What? I like a chick in power. I think it's cool."

She smiled. "So am I hot or am I cool?"

"Both."

She giggled again as she leaned into him, pressing a kiss against his lips. Though another mid-morning makeout session swept them away from reality, he couldn't fight negative thoughts from invading his mind.

Now it became official: everyone had everything figured out. Except him, the boy who had lied to his parents about having his dream universities sorted out, his campus tours booked, and his GPA together.

He didn't look into a single school, didn't know how to even schedule a tour, and watched his GPA dangle from a fraying thread.

_Yep, I've got nothing_.


	3. Sydni, Part I

Sydni, Part I

_**I**_ _used to be _so _good at planning ahead_, Sydni thought_. What the hell happened to that?_

_Wait_.

Witnessing her parents separate for the second time in the tenth grade happened. Running into Jake for shelter happened. Her parents' reunion happened. Discovering the used condom in Jake's trashcan happened. Becoming so emotionally distraught that she fled Baltimore the first chance she got happened. Meeting the gang happened. Being blindsided by her first crush post-breakup happened.

_Well, shit. No wonder I didn't think this through_.

"Still, why am I this dumb?" she asked aloud as she walked up the steps.

"Stop being so hard on yourself," her mother's voice called.

Sydni stopped with a foot on one step and the other on a different one. She turned around slightly, facing her mother with a puzzled look.

"Listen, your father and I aren't telling you _not_ to go after your journalistic ambitions. We just want you to really think about how you're gonna get the bills paid until things take off."

"I know." She frowned and looked down. "And I should've been the one to consider that first." Her parents poking holes in the plans for her future _embarrassed_ her.

"Sydni, you're still a child. You're not supposed to have all the bases covered."

"I'd like to think I do."

All the overthinking she did, all the safety nets she created, none of them stopped the free-falling she almost did, had her parents not warned her.

"Come down here," her mom urged.

After gulping, Sydni went down the steps and met her mother at eye level.

"Sweetheart, when your dad and I first separated, I struggled _hard_. He'd been keeping us afloat financially for so long that it forced me to wake up. I had to do for myself. And for _you_. You gotta do the same for yourself _earlier_ than I did. You're so bright, but I don't want you struggling. Keep doing your writing thing, and don't let _jack shit_ stop your dreams, but don't let them blind you from the real world. Understand?"

She nodded, not even realizing when the two of them had teared up. "I do, ma. I do," she spoke in a hushed voice.

"That's all I ask of you," her mother said in a tear-strained tone.

She pulled Sydni into a gentle hug. So comforting. So cathartic. It made Sydni return to the turning point of her childhood, wherein she sobbed in her mother's arms when her parents split the first time. She had pleaded _no_ as she wondered what the other kids would say, what Danielle and Michaela would think, what life with her mom would be like at her aunt's house, and when she'd visit her father.

When she pulled away from her mother now—as a girl who survived two parental separations, a reunion, and a heartbreak—she retreated with a lump in her throat and tear stains on her cheeks.

"I love you, ma."

"I love you too, honey." Her mother gave her a soft smile. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now. Just _start_ thinking. You might want to switch up your list of schools. Maybe double-major if you can."

"I will. I'll look into all that, and I'll let you know something soon."

"'Kay. Just take your time."

She nodded.

* * *

_**Okay**__, time to get on my existential bullshit._

She sat on her bed with her computer in her lap, a blank document staring her in the face.

_What do I like that's not writing… and can also bring in some decent dividends?_

_Um_.

_Shit._

She gave it a few moments, expending intense brain power.

_Wow, all that and still nothing_.

_Okay, breathe. Art's kinda dope, but then I'd be a starving artist two times over. Nope._

_Hmm… STEM? Oh, no. Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. No, ma'am._

_What about— Shit, never mind._

_Bruh, why can't I figure this out?! There's gotta be something. I know there's something. There _needs _to be something. If not, I'm gonna combust. Oh my _God_._

She couldn't major in English or journalism without double-majoring or majoring in something else altogether. But English programs were intensive. If she had to resort to a second major in science with all the demanding reading and writing requirements of English…

_No. There's gotta be another way, bruh._

If she kept it all bottled up, she would combust after all, regardless of the decision made. She wanted to stop being so in her head and spill these feelings into the open instead.

Though she didn't have Khaki Barn duty today, she didn't want to stay home and slowly drive herself mad (for once). She needed to go out, go to the mall, and get around. She needed to talk to someone in a similar situation.

_Nikki._

_She's always talking about journalism and travel writing and shit. She's _got _to have some ideas… hopefully. I'm crossing every finger I've got._

With that thought, Sydni swapped her loungewear for streetwear and her inactivity for driving to the mall.


	4. Jude, Part II

Jude, Part II

_**After**_ leaving Starr, Jude wandered around the mall, not unlike his mind wandering with many thoughts. She had her life in order. She'd be the world's greatest environmental scientist.

Jen had her life in order, too. She'd be the world's greatest snowboarder, soccer player, and businesswoman. (Everything about her life trajectory made him happy, but also made his head ache. How did she keep track of all these goals, man?)

Nikki had world travels and politics ahead of her.

Wyatt had a whole music career awaiting him.

Caitlin had the fashion world anticipating her arrival.

Sydni had a journalism career salivating for her.

Jonesy had the NHL waiting for him to play.

As for Jude, at least he would be the world's least significant nobody. Maybe he would become a nomad, roaming the world with nothing but his board in tow.

Shit, he would give the world just to talk to somebody, somebody who wouldn't judge him despite his unpreparedness for adult life.

He didn't want Starr to think lesser of him as a boyfriend. Didn't want Nikki hitting him with an unimpressed look that made him want to hide under the nearest rock. Didn't want Jen giving him a full-blown lecture on his irresponsibility. Didn't want Wyatt asking him why he hadn't thought about these things until now. Didn't want Sydni to not take him seriously as a new friend. Didn't want Caitlin to give him advice from a girly magazine or redirect him to Jen, who would just scold him all over again.

_Jonesy_.

Jonesy wouldn't chew him up and spit him out for his decisions. If anything, he'd ease Jude's weary conscience.

With a shred of hope, Jude retrieved his phone and texted Jonesy, asking for his location. Once he replied with _the fountain_, Jude took off on his board in search of his best friend. At least his wandering now had purpose.

Jude made it to the atrium and found Jonesy sitting by himself on a bench, entertaining himself with his phone.

"_Oooh_, _that_ looks like it hurt," he thought aloud as he winced at something on his screen.

"Hey, Jonesy," Jude interrupted, gaining his friend's attention.

"Hey, dude. What's up?"

"Y'know how I said I started looking into colleges and stuff?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, I lied. Big time."

"Deadass?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, what's the problem? We still got time before school starts to figure this shit out."

"Not me. My parents wanna see a list of schools before Friday."

"Ouch."

"_Yeah_."

"Shit, dude, just make something up."

"I'm totally gonna, but I'm still scared outta my mind! It's like everyone knows what they're doing but _me_. That's not the best feeling."

"Dude, I don't even know what I'm doing _tomorrow_. Or next week. All of us are winging this shit as we go—except Jen. Sis probably schedules when to take a shit."

"But that's the point, though: I don't want people like her judging me for not having all the answers."

"Jude, take it from me: I don't give a shit what Jen thinks of my life. She ain't the one living it. It's all a part of not giving a shit about other people and doing what works best for you. You should try it sometime."

"I dunno, Jonesy. I'm not built like that. I just wanna figure out what I wanna do."

"You got have any ideas at all?"

"Dude, I don't even know what I want for _lunch_."

"What about Wonder Taco?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Sweet. Let's go."

They proceeded to their favorite taco stand and got their food, making some of Jude's troubles dissipate along the way. While sitting at a nearby table and eating, a thought occurred to him.

"Dude, do you even have work today?"

"Nope," Jonesy replied, popping the _p_. "I'm happily unemployed. But I'm definitely gonna land a job before the end of the week."

"How do ya know that?" Jude asked, curious as to how his friend always remained so sure of himself.

"Easy. Manifestation destiny."

"Manifestation destiny? What's that?"

"Speaking shit into existence. Think about it. You got the power to control your life in two places: up here"—he tapped on his temple, hinting at the brain—"and down here," he said, pointing at his mouth. "You gotta think good shit and say it out loud, man. And you gotta say it with your chest. You can't go around saying shit without confidence, or else it's not gonna happen. That's how I _know_ I'm gonna get hired. Now you try it."

Unsure, Jude began, "I'm gonna—"

"_Louder_."

In his outside voice, Jude shouted, "I'm gonna figure out what to do with my life!"

An older man walking by their table scolded, "Can you figure it out any louder? I don't think _Europe_ heard you."

"Fuck off—my homeboy's having a breakthrough," Jonesy said, giving the man a stern look.

"Rude-ass kids," the man murmured as he walked away.

"Anyways, Jude, ignore him. You're doing great. You feel like you're gonna accomplish some shit yet?"

Jude rubbed his stomach. "Actually, I feel like I might have to _take_ one later."

"Yeah, me too. Those extra black beans might tear me _up_."

"But it was _so_ worth it."

"Wasn't it? That shit tasted so good."

"Mmhmm."

"Alright, before our bowels give out on us, let's try this one more time. I'mma need you to get really specific, Jude. You gotta close your eyes and really _see_ what you want, then grab it. Got it?"

"Okay." Jude shut his eyes tightly, tried to envision the life that would strike a balance between his wants and his parents' wants, reached his hand into the air, then pulled it to his chest. "I got it, dude!" he said with his eyes still shut.

"Now open your eyes and say it out loud. Be _super_ specific this time."

"I'm gonna get my GPA up, graduate, go to college, find a job or somethin', _and_ become a super famous skater!"

"_That's_ what I'm talkin' 'bout!" Jonesy exclaimed. "So, you feel good?"

"Better than I was before, if I'm keepin' it real."

"That's good." Jonesy frowned and scratched his head. "Y'know, if I'm being real with you, I still don't really know what I wanna be, either."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I thought about rapping at some point, though."

"For real?"

"Uh hub. I actually got some bars on my phone. Wanna hear them?"

"Of course!"

"Okay, cool." Jonesy grabbed his phone and scrolled through his notes until he found what he sought. He cleared his throat, rapping, "Lemme tell yo' ass how the Jonesmeister flows. Got hoes all shook when I go to the mall. I look so good, it's against the law. Don't own no mirrors, 'cause I ain't got no flaws. Got my chain on. Got my money right. My girl look so good, I'm gonna bust twice. Don't take the bus no more. Suicide Lambo. I got the horses in the back with my dad's Porsche. _Bars_."

"Dude, that was _siiiick_."

"Thanks, man," he replied as he returned his phone to his pocket. "Been listening to a lot of Kanye lately."

"So, what stopped ya from rapping?"

"Nikki said she'd break up with me if I ever uploaded anything."

"Damnnnn."

"Yeah. I was gonna call myself the Jonesmeister and everything, but I guess I gotta keep the ol' ball and chain happy."

"Well, what about hockey?"

"What about it?"

"Are you gonna try to go for the pros?"

"I mean, I kinda wanna, but my dad told me not to bet on it. Apparently only a certain number of guys make the cut per season." He sighed. In a small voice, he confessed, "He's right, too."

"What about manifestation destiny? Can't you get in that way?"

"Sometimes, speaking shit into existence doesn't work with statistics."

"Totally off-subject, but that definitely rhymed, dude."

Jonesy's eyes widened. He scrambled for his phone. "Shit, I gotta write that down! That's a bar!" While he typed the sentence before he could forget it, he told Jude, "But, yeah, I'm probably not gonna make it into the league, but it's okay, 'cause I'll find my life hustle." Once he put his phone on the tabletop again, he looked at Jude and tapped on his temple. "_That's_ manifestation destiny."

"Ever tried being a salesman? You're really convincing."

"Uh, I have. Several times. And got fired. Several times."

Jude looked away. "Oh, right."

"But that won't stop me from trying again!" Jonesy exclaimed, a swell of determination puffing his chest. "You gotta get like me, dude. The life you want is only a sentence away. You just gotta let the universe hear you."


	5. Wyatt, Part II

Wyatt, Part II

_**Up**_ until last night, Wyatt's toughest challenge had been asking a girl on a date. He remembered being enamored by Serena last year. With her being the manager of Spin This _and_ entering her senior year, her power reduced him to a helpless puddle. She had the world at her fingertips. Luckily, his friends reminded him of his own power, encouraging him to go after her. His parents initially liked her. However, his mother confessed to sensing something _off_ about her after their breakup.

After Serena ripped his heart to shreds, he stumbled like a fawn on shaky legs when pursuing Marlowe for the first time. Nonetheless, he salvaged his heart's tattered remains and handed them to her. She mended them so well that his heart looked whole again.

Too bad it fell apart once more last night.

That's how he learned that heartbreak happened in many forms. Everyone romanticized romantic heartbreak, but no one discussed the familial kind. It hurt far worse, especially when he had to tend to himself _and_ nurse a dream dying from bullet wounds.

He couldn't do it all by himself, or, at least, not without a cup of coffee. He took the bus to the mall, seeing that he didn't want the guilt of driving his dad's car around. He didn't even have work today. He just needed to flee the house.

Coffee remained a constant in his life, but today it became an absolute necessity. He knew he relied on it to function like Jude relied on weed. He'd heard the arguments against caffeine, both from news articles and from his mother. He'd tried to scale back on it before. He wanted to like black tea and green tea, but they paled in comparison to his daily joe.

He refused to let go of his caffeine crutch. Without it, he'd crash and stumble his way through life. (Not to mention, he'd be a _lot_ grumpier towards his loved ones. Caffeinated Wyatt equaled Compassionate Wyatt.)

He approached Grind Me, anticipating his first cup of the day. As the coffee grinds wafted through the air and into his nostrils, he salivated. Something about his reaction seemed quite Pavlovian.

_Gotta love AP Psych_, he quipped.

Whether he'd been trained to react to the aroma of coffee or not throughout two years of addiction, he couldn't help nearly drooling when he stood so close to the doors. He inched closer and closer to heaven until—

"Wyatt!" the voice of a true schmoozer greeted.

He sighed and turned around. "What do you want, Jonesy?"

"Hey, that's no way to greet a friend."

Wyatt didn't change his tone, nor his unamused expression. "Again: What do you want, Jonesy?"

"How did you know I wanted something? I could've just been trying to tell you _hi_."

He crossed his arms.

"Okay, fine: I wanted to see if you were interested in collabing with an up-and-coming rapper for your talent show gig." Jonesy waggled his brows at the end of his sentence.

"Nikki told me to not let you on any of my tracks." He then mumbled, "Not like I would anyways."

"Dammit. Well, can I at least be your manager or something?"

"You _do_ realize the last time you played manager you sold my stuff as merch, took the money, and flirted with half the girls who liked my music, right?"

Jonesy wore a deadpan expression. "Stop bringing up the past, dude."

Wyatt mirrored his look. "This was last summer."

"AKA the _past_. Listen, I'll split the profit with you 60-40. _And_ I can guarantee that I'm not gonna flirt with any chicks since I got Nikki."

"Wow, an offer I can't refuse."

"Man, you're bitter before your brew."

"Isn't it unwise to insult a potential client before you land them?"

He wagged his eyebrows again. "So you're _considering_ it."

"If I say yes, will you leave me alone?"

"Yep."

Wyat let out a deep sigh. "You sure have a knack for wearing people down."

"What are you—my girlfriend?"

"No, but I have an idea of how you wooed her into submission." He grimaced. "Anyways, mind if I'm by myself for a bit? I've got a lot on my mind."

"You need to talk or something? 'Cause, I mean, I'm here for you. I just coached Jude through some shit anyways."

"Oh, dang. Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine. He's just confused about some stuff."

"Oh. Well, either way, I'll be okay. I just need a coffee and some time to think alone."

"Okay. Take it easy, buddy."

"Thanks, Jonesy."

"No prob. See ya when I see ya."

_Finally_, Wyatt thought once Jonesy left. In no way did he hate Jonesy—in fact, Wyatt loved him like an annoying younger brother—but he could only take him in small doses before a cup of coffee. He felt bad that his patience ran thin before he got his drink, but, with everything on his mind, he could only deal with so much.

After all, life had never thrown him anything this challenging before. Girls, gym, and AP courses couldn't compare to the severity of this issue.

He cursed his creative inclinations. He excelled at math. In the seventh grade, he taught himself how to code in Python after a teacher encouraged his affinity for logic. He soon moved onto learning Java on his own. Every now and then, he programmed little applets in his spare time. He planned on taking computer science as his senior-year elective. However, he only liked all of that as a hobby.

He loved to flex the logical side of his brain, but his heart yearned for the creative. He slept, ate, and bled music. When he mastered "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," he knew that his longest relationship would be with his guitar.

His mother told him that, as an infant, he'd babble in the backseat to Stevie Wonder. His aunt gifted him a guitar at the age of five, something he never put down. When his parents couldn't afford lessons because of Whitney's college tuition, he took it upon himself to learn basic music theory concepts and how to read sheet music. By the end of junior year, he'd saved up enough money to buy some new equipment for the makeshift studio in his room. Everything he did, he did it with a sense of professionalism, but music was the only profession he sought after. How could his parents not understand that?

...How could _he_ almost forget the talent show? It didn't even cross his mind until Jonesy mentioned it. In fact, Jonesy had been the one to inform him about it earlier in the summer when he'd passed out the flyers for it. However, instead of being held at the mall as scheduled, the venue had changed to a music hall across the city.

He didn't know if he even wanted to participate anymore, given that his passion for music had suddenly become a stress.

But he already wrote and recorded a rough demo of the song he wanted to perform, _and_ he already invited his friends, girlfriend, and family to watch him perform it on Sunday.

He facepalmed himself and groaned as he walked into Grind Me.

Oh, he felt _screwed_.

His hand trembled with increasing desperation.

If he didn't get that damn coffee, he'd collapse.

"Wyatt?" a familiar, feminine voice asked behind him.

_Oh, __come_ _on_, he thought before turning around.

"Serena, hey. Um, what's up?"

"Nothing much. Just came to get a latte." She looked at with more intent. "Are you okay? You don't look so good."

"I…" he said, debating whether he should lie or not. "I'm just going through a lot, to be honest."

"Do you wanna sit and talk about it? I've got time."

_I guess life can't get any worse._

"Sure. Let's just order our drinks first," he said.

* * *

"_**Wyatt**_, I'm so sorry your parents are putting you through that," Serena said, holding her latte in one hand and placing other one on the table, physically extending her sympathy to him. "You deserve so much better."

Wyatt gave her a solemn nod.

"If it makes you feel any better, my mom's not crazy about me going into public health."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She wants me to 'go all the way' and do bio pre-med, but I don't want to go that route."

"Is she still paying for you to go to school, though?" he asked.

She averted her eyes. "Yeah. She prefers me having a degree instead of nothing at all."

"Sounds like your mom's at least trying to be reasonable."

"Yeah. And that's how _your_ parents should be. I mean, you're just so talented and hard-working."

"You really think so?"

"Of course. Your hustle's always been impressive, Wyatt. Don't ever stop it. Combine that with your kindness, and you're gonna go far. No one can stop what's meant for you, even your parents. Even if it hurts a little."

He gave her a half-smile. All of this reminded him of why he ever liked her. She could be so caring and nurturing. Her good side had returned.

"Thanks, Serena. You know, this talk was… refreshing."

"Anytime. I'm always gonna be in your corner." Her smile drooped as her face settled into morose. "And, listen, I'm sorry about how I acted when summer started. I was just… vulnerable and stupid and—honestly—immature. I hope you can forgive me."

He nodded. "I do. We all do dumb stuff sometimes."

She chuckled. "We definitely do. So, so you wanna do this again sometime? Maybe we can grab lunch sometime after your competition."

"Sure. I'd like that."

* * *

_**Even**_ though Serena's words reassured him, Wyatt remained uneasy. After all, Serena lived with a parent who still accepted her aspirations. She didn't understand his parents, their views, and the household he grew up in.

But, as his phone buzzed with two new messages, he knew who did.

He tapped the notification, opening his one-on-one conversation with Willow. He'd gotten messages of support all day from his sisters in their group chat. Their sentiments varied, but they all shared the same underlying reminder: "We've got you if you need us."

Despite Whitney's distance or Wynter's wedding planning or Willow's grind, they still provided support for him. It made his heart smile.

So did Willow's texts.

_God, mama's such a drama queen lmao. You could be a murderer as long as you got yo stem degree and an island ting, but God forbid you wanna do music and date a white girl. Then all hell breaks loose._

_Don't tell her I said that tho_

Wyatt chuckled and replied, _Don't worry. What happens in the convo stays in the convo lol_.

_Good_.

_So… you busy right now?_ he asked.

_Nah. Just went on my break. What's up?_

_Mind if I call you? I got a lot on my mind_

_I'll bet. Hmu_

* * *

"_**So**_, what exactly's on your mind?" Willow asked.

"_Everything_." He sighed. "I just can't help but wonder if they're right and I'm just wasting my time."

"Don't you _ever_ think that. If mom and dad had all the answers to life, don't you think they'd be doing better themselves?"

"Oof."

"I know it sounds harsh, but don't you agree with me on some level?"

"I mean, you're not wrong."

"Which fundamentally means I'm right. Seriously though—I know music's not always practical, but a lot of things are just as uncertain in life. There's no guarantee that _I'm_ gonna be successful. There's nothing that says Wynter's wedding is gonna happen. No one knows that Whit's gonna escape that mountain of— Ooh, never mind."

"Wait, what were you gonna say?"

"Okay, _don't_ tell her I told you this, but she's in a _lot_ of debt."

"From what?"

"You ever notice how many labels she wears? That's not from her savings, I can tell you that. She wanted to stunt so bad that it got her in trouble."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

He reeled. He always regarded Whitney as perfect. Never gave their parents any problems. Never betrayed signs of struggle. Always held it together. Always held it down.

Perfection remained the best optical illusion of them all.

"So, yeah," Willow continued, "she's going through some stuff. But, back to you, don't give into their expectations so easy. I know it's hard, but you gotta fight for yourself."

"But I don't wanna do it at the expense of _peace_. It's bad enough that I haven't talked to mom and dad since last night. I don't know if I can take any much more of that."

"Well, they shouldn't have started a war then. Listen, I don't wanna put more on you then they already have, but, if you speak up, you'll be the first of us to do it. None of us have really… challenged them before."

He chuckled. "_You_ did when you flunked your first semester."

"Okay, that's different. That challenged their wallets and faith in God." After a laugh of her own, she clarified, "I'm talking about challenging the culture of the house."

"What do you mean?"

"You know—what they _expect_ of us. They've put so many of their own dreams on us that it's time we show them what lives we _really_ live and _wanna_ live."

"I mean, what's left besides Whitney having money problems and me not going into CS?"

"Remember my friend from Thanksgiving last year? Taylor?"

"Yeah. You live with her, right?"

"Uh huh. That's my girlfriend."

"Wait, _what_?!"

"We've been dating since junior year. Wyn—and now you—are the only ones in the fam who know."

"Oh, _wow_. When did you know that—you know—you liked girls?"

"Always, to be honest. That's why I always went to dances and stuff with friends. That's why you guys never saw me going on dates. I always fronted like I was too busy with track and school to go out with guys, when truthfully I've just never _liked_ guys."

"Oh, wow. Mom and dad'll _flip_ if they found out you aren't giving them any grands."

"I could always adopt… even though I'll probably never do it."

"So my original point stands."

"Basically."

"Okay… I know your situation's harder than mine to explain to mom and dad, but why can't you be the one to change how they see things? Why does it have to be me?"

She fell silent.

"Is it because I'm the only one still in the house with them? Is that it?"

"No. Of course not. I wanna come out to them so bad, but… baby steps. I was hoping you could tell them what you really wanna do with your life. Maybe that'll soften the blow. Then we can work our way up from there."

"Change from the bottom-up?"

"Exactly."

"But, even if I tell them that I wanna go into music, there's no way in hell they'll pay my way. They might be forced to accept it, but they'll never pay for it."

"We'll find a way."

"You know I love you, Willow, but this is a _lot_. This is the _last_ thing I expected to think about."

"I'm not saying you have to go through with this. I'm just saying to think about it."

* * *

_**He**_ didn't possess the traits of a revolutionary. He loved a healthy debate, but only in a controlled setting like his school's debate team, where he knew there would be no lingering consequences. However, rebelling against his parents… that spelled disaster and long-term fallout.

Why him? Why did it all have to be on him?

How could he breathe with all this new information?

One sister's debt. The other sister's secret life. Their parents' rejection of his desires. Serena opening a door he thought to be locked. A reminder of the talent show. Second thoughts about the aforementioned.

How could he lead a change when he couldn't see his way?

Deep breath.

He supposed he would figure it out in the morning.


End file.
